


It’s not that I can’t live without you (It’s just that I don’t even want to try)

by lisachan



Series: Leoverse [290]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan
Summary: After the sickness spread and the end of civilization as humanity knew it came to be, Timmy and Alex have been traveling West on foot from New York City to try and reach their families, which, last they heard of them, were safe and sound in Alex's father's farm in Galena. However, they've been on the road for more than two months, now, and they feel the burning need to rest a while.The city of Harrisburg, apparently cleared from all sick people and empty, seems like the best place to do so. But once they get there, they meet someone none of them expected to see again, and he gives them hope that they might get home way sooner than they expected, thanks to the unexpected appearance of... a train. The last functioning train in the world.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Leoverse [290]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/30541





	It’s not that I can’t live without you (It’s just that I don’t even want to try)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Comings And Goings And All The Things In Between](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020384) by [lisachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisachan/pseuds/lisachan). 



> **WARNING:** This story is a **what if** from the original 'verse. In the canon course of events that followed the beginning of Broken Heart Syndrome, **this has never happened**.
> 
> Hello, beautiful people! Welcome back to our madness.
> 
> So, I don't know if any of you is familiar with a collection of short stories all taking place in different universes and instances from the Leoverse, all centered around Timmy and Alex, that I wrote a couple years ago. It's called [Comings and goings and all the things in between](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020384). At that point there was a short story, [Thunderstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020384/chapters/50721842), that introduced a what if? instance in which, at some point, a mysterious sickness started to spread through the world, turning people into, basically, cannibals. Okay, this story you're about to read is the direct sequel of that first short story, so you might want to read that first, and only then proceed with this one.
> 
> Addictionally, this story was written for this year's [Maritombola](https://www.landedifandom.net/maritombola-11/) (it's the 11th edition!). The prompt was #25: "on the last train of the day". I figure the one Timmy and Alex ride on is the last train still riding in the world after the apocalypse -- that can count as the last train of the day.

“What time do you think it is?”

Alex looks up at the gray sky, sheltering his eyes with a hand and squinting in the pale sunlight, to try and look as close at the sun as possible without staring right into it. “I really don’t know,” he sighs heavily. It’s become increasingly harder to keep count of the days they’ve been traveling. Once they passed the mark of two months, for a while Timmy kept count, but then he lost it too. Alex supposes living on the streets will do that to you, eventually.

At this point, understanding what time of the day it is has become almost impossible. They used to be incredibly in tune with the rhythm of nature, in the beginning – they woke up with the sun, found shelter and go to sleep at nightfall – but it isn’t so anymore. The light shifts during the day, autumn has fallen heavily upon the East Coast and it’s been constant raining since then. They wake up in the darkness, some days they can’t even travel and, if they’re sheltered well enough, they just nap and lie around all day, then they try traveling in the evening, if it’s not raining any longer, but sometimes it gets too dark and too dangerous, and so they end up lying awake through the night and then oversleep the morning after.

When they left Blaine’s loft in Broadway, they tried to count the miles from where they were and to his dads’ farm in Galena. They counted roughly a month of walking, if they could be good enough to follow a six-hours walk per day schedule. They couldn’t, though, partly because of the weather – the scorching heat of the first couple months, then the copious rains once the fall came –, partly because of random inconveniences – their struggle in crossing the Hudson river, Timmy’s brief fever in Allentown, those few stormy days when they couldn’t even leave their shelter –, and partly, finally because they were simply physically not equipped for the trip. Timmy, being the fittest and more well-built between them, could handle it better, in the beginning, but then he caught that flu that literally wrecked him for almost a week, and he hasn’t been able to fully recover since then. Which means they’re going even slower than they should.

What does it matter what time is it? They don’t even know the day, the month any longer. They barely even know _where_ they are, sometimes.

“Do you think the farm’s still standing?”

Every time Timmy asks about the time or the day, it’s to get to that. Try and speculate if they’re being too late, if perhaps by the time they get to Galena they’ll find nothing waiting for them. He used to think very little about it, Alex was the most worried between the two about arriving and finding the farm empty, their parents dead or even worse sick upon their arrival, but as the days went by, the more Alex’s rational thinking brought him away from worrying in favor of trying to see the situation clearly, the more Timmy started to get concerned, instead. Just another example of their compensating synchronicity, Alex supposes. Timmy was strong for the whole first half of the trip. Now it’s up to Alex to be stronger.

“Of course it’s still standing,” he says with a smile as he moves on to the next car abandoned on Market Street, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, to check if there’s gas in the tank. “Do you even know my dad? He’s never gonna give up on the farm. You’ll see, we’ll get there and he’ll be there, making olive oil and mozzarella, like, business as usual, in the midst of a deadly pandemic and the collapse of civilization as we know it.”

“Yeah,” Timmy chuckles, checking the cars on the other side of the street, “When whatever’s left of society fails, your dad will be the last one standing.”

“You can be sure of that,” Alex smiles, checking another car. No luck there either. “Baby, I’m not sure we’re using our time wisely. These cars are all dead.”

Timmy groans, leaning against one of the muddy car carcasses. “I know. I don’t know why I keep insisting. It’s just— the idea of having to walk for at least another month breaks me. My feet are killing me, they’re all blisters, and one of my knees is about to roll out of my leg, I think.”

“I hear you…” Alex crosses the street to move closer to him, leaning on the car next to him and then leaning on him, too. “My back is a mess. And I think I lost another couple pounds. Which, if I had to just decadently lie on a bed, surrounded by veils, frills and pillows, would be amazing, okay, but won’t help me to face more walking.” He sighs and hides his face against Timmy’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“You and me both, sweets,” Timmy leans in and kisses him on his forehead, “You and me both. And I’ve got nothing on me to eat. We’ll have to scavenge something.”

“We could try the train station, what do you say?” Alex suggests, hopeful, “There might be a convenience store, inside. Maybe there’s something left on the shelves or in the warehouse.”

“Maybe,” Timmy nods. Then he sighs deeply and turns towards him, gathering him in his arms. “Tell you what,” he whispers, rubbing his nose up and down Alex’s neck. Alex is aware of how smelly he must be, they haven’t had a proper wash in at least a week, at this point. But it feels nice that Timmy doesn’t care about it. “We’ll go to the train station, we’ll scavenge for something. Then we’re gonna break into one of these nice houses around here, clear it if we need to and treat ourselves to a nice night indoor. What do you say?”

“Mmh,” Alex mewls, hugging him tightly around his waist, “Marry me.”

“I will as soon as humanity manages to rebuild society and restore the ancient rite of marriage,” Timmy jokes, kissing him on his forehead again, “Even though I can’t promise when that’s gonna happen. I don’t see that happening before we manage to get rid of the zombie rabies, anyway. Plenty of time for you to choose an appropriate dress. Should be something elegant, but that I can easily rip off you once we’re back in our bedroom, just so you know.”

“God, shut up,” Alex laughs, his laughter echoing eerily through the empty street. “Speaking of zombie rabies, though… isn’t it odd that we haven’t seen a sick one yet since we got here? I mean, I wasn’t expecting to find any in Jonestown, but Harrisburg? Come on. Where are the people?”

“Maybe they all went away when everybody started fleeing West?” Timmy tries to guess, looking around. It is actually strange not to see anyone around, though, Alex knows that. It makes him wary about the whole situation. Sometimes he feels crazy thinking about it, but he feels actually safer when he sees the sick and he can personally take care of them, make sure the place has been purged. He doesn’t feel as safe when he just sees no one and has to _trust_ there is no one.

“I don’t know…” he shrugs, “I don’t even hear anything, though, so I think we’re safe, for the time being. I guess we can head down to the station to find something to eat.”

“That we were gonna do anyway, sick or no sick around. I’m starving,” Timmy finally moves away from the car, entwining his fingers with Alex’s and leading him down Market Street towards the Amtrak station.

The walk shows them the same kind of sight they’ve seen in countless little towns during their travels following along the 81. Empty houses, abandoned cars, the occasional desiccated corpse. One thing he thought he would see, that he had been fed by all movies and TV shows on the topic, was nature claiming back the abandoned cities – trees growing randomly everywhere, wild beasts roaming the streets and so on – but that’s not something they’ve ever seen, in any of the places they’ve been. Sure, they’ve seen a few houses with huge gardens in the front almost completely hidden by vines and trees, but those were places that had big green spaces before too. Nature was already there, just a little bit tamed. In places where nature has been completely annihilated, like entirely cemented towns and cities like this, it has failed to make a comeback.

Alex doesn’t know how he should feel about that, if this is a sign that humanity could bounce back from this, somehow, or if this is just another sign that the world is dead, now, utterly dead, and all living things should prepare to withdraw forever.

“Do you ever think about what’s gonna happen _after_?”

Timmy turns to look at him, frowning lightly, as they walk past a Chinese food joint, a fried chicken joint and a pizza joins in less than ten square meters. “After what?”

“After this is over…” Alex gestures vaguely to point at the general landscape surrounding them, the abandoned shops and restaurants, the messily parked cars, the corpses, “I mean, at some point it’s gonna have to be over. These people— they’re sick. Sooner or later, they’re gonna die.”

“Well, humanity passed through hundreds of pandemics without ever really disappearing, might be the same case for the sick.”

“That’s not the same,” Alex frowns, “Humanity bred. We multiplied, that’s how we stayed alive despite the pandemics, wars and shit.”

“And you think the sick don’t breed?” Timmy arches an eyebrow, “They multiply too, you know. They pass their sickness on, that’s how they do it.”

“Surely not at the same rate!”

Timmy shrugs, looking away. “We don’t know,” he says, “We _can’t_ know. More to the point, even _if_ the sick all died and disappeared, which could take decades, anyway… I mean, what would be left of humanity, by then? Society, civilization, culture… everything we took for granted up to a few months ago— I mean, we aren’t taking those things for granted any longer now, already! And it’s been just a handful of weeks since this shit started. We’re adapting, the world already has a different shape… and they could be adapting too.”

“Which brings me back to my question,” Alex insists, “What do you think will happen after this time has passed?”

“It might never pass, you know.”

“Not true. You said it yourself— we’re adapting. Regardless if they will adapt too or not, at some point we, as a people, will have ended our adapting process, we will be _doing_ something, we will have _become_ something. Society, civilization and culture may not exist any longer, but something else might, something— even if nothing of what existed before survived, we will have to create something new, won’t we?”

Timmy stops in the middle of the street, turning to look at him. He studies him, as though he was trying to understand some hidden meaning behind his words, something Alex might be trying to convey without actually saying it. Alex swallows as he realizes that it’s true— he’s trying to tell Timmy something, and what he’s trying to say is _I’m terrified by what tomorrow might bring_.

There’s been no space for fear, on the road. Sleeping in isolated gas stations, venturing in the woods, crossing rivers and lakes, running away from the sick or fighting against them, hunting for some fresh meat or fish to eat, scavenging for food or supplies, all that needed to be done, and it needed to be done in a clean, organized, rational way. No time to be terrified, there. Terror brings chaos with itself, two people can’t live alone on the road, the whole world against them, if they’re broken down by chaos. Which meant they could not be scared, ever.

Now that they’re in an empty but comfortably large city, though, now that they can entertain the thought of staying the night, perhaps even a couple nights or a week, have some decent food, occupy a house and live there like pseudo-normal people in a pseudo-normal world for the first time since they left New York, fear is taking the chance to creep in, seep through the cracks in their affected confidence taint their thoughts. Alex feels it – it’s what it’s making him think about the future, trying to find some solace in the world that could be, since he can’t find it in the world as it is.

He just wants Timmy to tell him at some point down in history things will be alright again. But Timmy loves him too much to lie to him, and so he just reaches out for him and hugs him tight, kissing him on his forehead. “Whatever the future looks like,” he says, “We’ll face it together.”

“What if it’s ugly, then?” Alex tries, closing his eyes and relaxing in his boyfriend’s arms.

Timmy scoffs a little laughter, his lips pressed against Alex’s skin. “We’ll still be fucking handsome,” he says.

Alex laughs, hitting him weakly with a fist against his chest. “Idiot,” he says, but just as he finishes uttering the word he is shaken and terrified by a loud noise coming from past the train station at the end of the street. “What the hell was that?!”

“I don’t know,” Timmy says in a haste, his arms suddenly clutched around Alex’s shoulders, “Sounded like something metallic falling to the ground, like— a container, or something.”

“Who would be here pushing a container around— _how_ would anyone be strong enough to push a container around?!”

Timmy swallows and finally lets him go. “We can check it out.”

“What if it’s the sick?”

“Not sure how the sick could handle a metal container, sweetness. Or why would they.”

“Shut up,” Alex grumbles, starting for the station, “Come on.”

They both reach the end of Market Street at the same time, moving swiftly, quickly and silently, like they’ve learned to do. They’ve passed through dozens of small cities on their way up here, coasting the highway, and they could feel, and sometimes even see, that they were still inhabited, by big or small groups of people or just families clinging to their houses and possessions for dear life. They’ve learned that when people think they hold a city, they generally dislike letting other people in. Timmy finds it selfish and disgusting, but Alex understands why people do it: it is, actually, selfish, but it is also what you have to do when you think you’ve got nothing else in the world except the small strip of land that you chose for yourself. You desperately want to protect what you believe it is the last and only thing you can call your own, the one thing you rely upon to keep your sanity.

Alex can relate. It’s what he feels for Timmy, right now. He would put himself in harm’s way a thousand times to protect Timmy. No matter what happens to him, Timmy must survive, because if he loses Timmy – he’s got no reason left to be alive anymore. He doesn’t recognize the world they live in now, he wholly dislikes it, actually. Timmy’s the one redeeming quality this life still has. Alex loses that, he loses everything.

For some people they’ve seen and met during their travels, that one redeeming quality is their home, or the small community they managed to build in their hometowns once they found a way to purge it from the sick. 

This could be what this is about. Perhaps Harrisburg is not as empty as they initially thought it was.

They run through the underground passage, the echo of their own frantic steps reverberating around them, and they get to the other side, to the nicely paved and lined with trees Aberdeen Street. That’s when they start hearing the shouting and the loud talking, and there’s laughter, too, and they immediately stop moving and hide behind a car, crouching on the ground, to try and see what’s going on without being spotted right away.

The station is teeming with people, all pushing carts full of well-packed things, goods and foods all nicely wrapped in paper and plastic. “What the fuck…?” Alex whispers in shock. He wasn’t expecting anything like this, anywhere they’ve been, even where there were actually organized communities, there was nothing that even resembled this kind of organization. These people look like workers on a schedule, all working methodically through their tasks, through their shifts. Even at a first glance it is possible to see that there’s a structure to the group they compose – there are low-level workers pushing carts and moving bags and piling stuff on pallets, then there are intermediary figures keeping lists and checking off things and telling people where to go and when and what to do once they get there and how much time they have to do that specific thing in that specific place so that they remain on schedule.

And then there’s one single person, one man both shouting orders and busting his ass off, both telling people what they should do and how and doing the very same things he’s shouting about first-hand.

And Alex has no idea how this is possible, but that man’s Bramwell Stockridge, Timmy’s best friend.

“Oh, God,” Timmy inhales and then exhales, slowly getting up from behind the car, “Bram.”

“Babe,” Alex tries to reach out for him, to make him crouch back down again, “Babe, we don’t know who he’s with, we don’t even know what he’s up to! Come back down.”

Alex always trusted Bramwell, honestly. He always was such a good person. He’s one of those guys that simply don’t accept the idea of human imperfection, who believe there can always be something else, something more to be done to make things better for anyone else. When he first moved to New York to attend Parsons, Timmy couldn’t even introduce them for months, because Bram was currently off in Russia chaining himself to halls of power’s gates and national monuments to fight for LGBTQI+ people’s rights. When they did actually get to meet, it was in a soup kitchen where Bram was volunteering over the weekend.

Bram comes from a very rich, very powerful, very ancient, majorly entitled New York City family dating back to the founding fathers. He’s always felt guilty because of that, as sometimes happens to those rare rich people who, perhaps because of some genetic mishap, are born with a conscience. He’s always refused to let that guilt make him feel miserable and useless, he’s a positive person, he decided back when he was nothing but a kid that he would have put his family’s money to good use and, when he couldn’t do that any longer, when his father cut back his monthly allowance and basically signed him out of all family accounts, he put himself on the line. If he only had 800$ each month to spend, he’d spend them to be of use.

Alex, who never had the means nor the calling to do the same, always admired him, as he always admires anyone who seems to be wired differently than him, simply because he loves how different human beings can be. And back before the apocalypse, he would’ve trusted his own life in Bramwell’s hands in a heartbeat, as he’s sure Timmy would’ve too.

The difference between Timmy and him, now, is that Timmy would still do that without even thinking about it one second. But while traveling West they’ve both seen things they never thought they could see, they’ve seen meek family men turned into ruthless killers to protect their family and their possession, they’ve seen starved people ending up eating their sons and daughters, they’ve seen psychos gathering flocks of weak-minded madmen around themselves to sacrifice newborn kids to various gods and goddesses in an attempt to stop the sickness. Before they stepped out of the state of New York, they saw the worst of humanity come alive around them – it was way worse in the city than they’ve seen in the country – and Alex knows very well that what happened changed humanity on a deeper level, it rewired the minds of people, shifting their priorities and reshaping their moral sense.

Before the apocalypse, yeah, he’d have run between Bram’s arms, trusting he would help. Now? Not so much.

“What?” Timmy frowns, but he does crouch back next to him, “Sweets, what are you even talking about? It’s Bram. _Bram_.”

“I know, but who are those people?”

“I don’t know, but if they’re with him—”

“Timmy, he could not be the same person you remember.”

“Nonsense!” Timmy raises his voice, absolutely shocked at the implication in Alex’s words, “Alex, if there’s one person I would trust in any circumstance, no matter how dire, that’s Bram. I’ve known him all my life, he’s incapable of doing wrong. Genetically.”

“No one’s incapable of doing wrong, Timmy…” Alex sighs heavily, “I am. You are. He is. Especially now. Like, what are those people even doing, why are they moving shit around, where? And look at the way they work, so fucking organized, they’re probably army. What would Bram even be doing with the army?! He’s always been a pacifist.”

“Correct,” Bram says, standing nonchalantly a few feet away from them. Both Timmy and Alex gasp as they turn to look at him, and he chuckles at their reaction, raising a hand to wave at them. “Thought I’d heard familiar voices. It’s nice to see you again, guys, I never thought I would.”

“My man!” Timmy jumps straight on his legs and then launches himself at Bramwell, wrapping his arms around his best friend’s shoulders and squeezing him into a powerful hug, “Sorry for hiding out, we weren’t sure it was safe out there.”

Alex appreciates the way Timmy gracefully words his statement to make sure it appears that they _both_ were dubious about what was going on when, in fact, it was only Alex. He’s the nicest partner to have in the midst of an apocalypse, that much must be said about him. You never risk feeling alone or unsafe by his side. “Hey…” he tries with half a smile, deciding to trust Timmy’s instinct regarding Bram’s good intentions, “It’s nice to see you too. Unexpected, but nice.”

“What are you two even doing around here?” Bram asks with a chuckle, “What’s for you in Pennsylvania?”

“Nothing, actually,” Timmy smiles, “We’re crossing over to Galena.”

“All the way there?” Bram opens his eyes wide, evidently surprised, “On foot?”

“Yeah, we weren’t lucky as far as means of transportation go…” Timmy sighs heavily, but he’s forced to chuckle when he sees the way Bram’s smile widens on his face, making him look much younger than he is. “What’s with the face, man? What are you even doing here, who are those people?”

Bramwell smiles and discreetly disentangles himself from Timmy’s hug. “It’s funny you’d say you’re struggling with means of transportation, considering that’s exactly what we’re working on here,” he says. He enjoys a purely theatrical second of silence, then speaks again. “We’re about to ride the last train in the world, man. Come see,” he finishes, holding Timmy’s hand with one of his own hands and Alex’s with the other, as he starts dragging them towards the station.

His words come so surprising that, for a second, Alex cannot even process them. “A train…?” he utters confusedly.

“There are no more trains running, man, what are you talking about?” Timmy says, equally confused.

“Yeah, we’re aware,” Bram laughs a little as he guides them past the front door and into the red bricks building of the Amtrak station. All around, people stop working to look at them, and a few directly ask Bram who they are. He stops and politely introduces them to anyone who asks for information. He’s vague about where they come from, something Alex is extremely thankful for, but he tells everybody their first name, which Alex supposes is okay, and he tells everyone they’re his friends, which feels good and is probably the safest option, considering all these people seem to hang from Bramwell’s lips. Perhaps, if they know they’re his friends, they won’t want to strip them of their possessions and leave them to die in a ditch. 

Bramwell leads them to the platforms, walking through the couple dozen people that are moving back and forth from inside and outside the station, carrying pallets and loading them up on an actual train sitting on the tracks in platform number one.

“What the fuck?” Timmy looks at the train intently, studying it, as the expression on his face progressively opens into a smile, “You’ve gotta be kidding me— this _works_?!”

“It should,” Bram chuckles, and then points at the thin trail of smoke coming out of the chimney on top of the locomotive, “Took us forever to find it, we’ve been moving from city to city to check out every single garage in every single station to find one. It’s been a month or so since we set out, we were down in Philly and we moved our way up from there. We were a little bit luckier than you, though, with transportation, we could find a few trucks and we were able to siphon some gas from a few gas stations along the way. We’ve been gathering up goods around as we went, which is why you’re seeing all these people loading all these things on the train. There’s gonna be more for tomorrow, we’re going basically door to door to scavenge for whatever we can take with us.”

“But— why?” Alex blinks, looking in confusion at all the people working around them, “If you have trucks and you’ve got gas—”

“That’s just not practical,” Bram shakes his head, “Not good for what we have in mind. Trucks run on streets, streets are not straight lines cutting through the landscape, streets are often covered in abandoned cars… and sure, we managed to find some gas, but we don’t expect to be so lucky as we go. A train, though!” he turns to show the train in all its beauty, as though he himself had designed it, “Faster, the railroad cuts through almost everything, it’s way bigger in comparison, it offers absolute, total protection, and we will never run out of fuel.”

It does, actually, sound like a convenient way to move. Alex takes a look at the whole train, top to bottom. There’s a lot of wagons they have there, and some of them come straight from overnight trains, which means they’ve gotta be arranged to sleep comfortably inside. He imagines it must be nice to be on something that can not only take you from point A to point B, but also allow you a good night’s sleep without having to constantly fear for your life.

“What’s your plan, then?” Timmy chuckles, “And can we help?”

Bram laughs, patting him on his back. “Won’t be necessary, man, we’re almost done and, frankly, you both look like shit. But you’re welcome to ride with us. The plan is to travel from city to city to bring some food, clothes and other useful things where we’ve heard the sickness has struck harder. After we set out from here, we’re going to Pittsburgh, then to Cleveland— hey!” he stops and smiles brightly, looking at them both, “You should come with us! We’re probably going for Detroit after that, but from Cleveland you can easily take the 71 and it’s a couple days of walk down to Galena! You’re lucky enough to find a functioning vehicle, you could be there in a couple hours! What do you say?”

Timmy turns to look at Alex so fast Alex for a second fears that he’s gonna lose control of his head. He pictures it rotating and rotating on his neck faster and faster until it unscrews and pops away. Then he chuckles. “You wanna go, right?” he guesses.

“Yes!” his boyfriend screams shamelessly.

Bram laughs again, wholeheartedly. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says, “But seriously, it’s safer and it’s faster and it’s more comfortable than walking all the way there! And God knows if you don’t look like you deserve it.”

“Can you stop pointing out how shitty we look, man?” Timmy turns towards him, pouting, “We know.”

Bram chuckles and hugs him again. “Sorry, T. T., I was speaking out of love. Listen, why don’t I get you to one of our safe houses? You can spend the night there, wash yourself, change into some decent clothes, have some food. We’re having a party down in Market Square, later tonight, if you wanna join us…”

“Ah, no, thank you,” Timmy chuckles too, reaching out to hold Alex’s hand, “I mean, we’ll take the safe house. Gladly. We’ll take it so much, actually, I don’t think we’re gonna come out of it until we must tomorrow.”

“Fine by me,” Bram nods, “Parties aren’t compulsory around here. And I get you’d want to spend a whole night sleeping after what you must’ve been through on the road.”

“Sleeping,” Timmy nods quickly, “Right. Yep. That’s exactly—”

“I know you’re not gonna sleep, Timothy, I was trying to be classy in front of your boyfriend.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Alex shakes his head, “Class is so wasted on him.”

“Hey…”

Bram lets out a loud laughter, guiding them out of the station. “Don’t complain, Anderson, you deserved that. Come, now, I’ll show you where you’ll stay.”

*

The house is almost completely empty, but it’s okay. All furniture is still around – the sitting room is particularly nice, with its libraries and couches, despite the fact that the libraries have been emptied out and the couches don’t have pillows on them anymore – and even though the hallway is crowded with boxes filled with clothes and food, the rest of the house is tidy, and it smells clean, perhaps just a little dusty.

Bram promised the boxes in the hallway will be taken out of the house only after they come out of it tomorrow, so that they won’t be disturbed for the rest of the day, and he told them they can pick what they want from the food boxes. There’s pasta and some sauces, and a few canned goods but they’re gonna steer clear of those, having survived basically on them for the last couple months. There are also cookies, and both Timmy and Alex try very very hard not to want them, but it ultimately ends up being beyond their control, and they get them.

As they collapse on the bed with a bowl between them, bellies filled to the brim with spaghetti, soft sheets underneath them and the puffiest duvet they could expect to find in a looted house in the middle of the apocalypse, Alex tries to remember what it was to be mostly vegetarian, and he fails. “Can you believe I would have never eaten cookies before the apocalypse? Like, how did I even survive?”

Timmy chuckles, stretching out on the bed purely to enjoy its softness even more. “Honestly? I never got the appeal of sweets. I remember there were days when Leo literally could not stop baking cakes, and there I was, insistently asking for a burger. But right now, I swear, I never ever ate anything that tasted better than these fucking cookies.”

Alex laughs, and then turns on his side, his lips curling in a mischievous smirk. “Is that right?” he says, sliding closer to him, “Never ever?”

Timmy doesn’t catch up with him right away, but he does in a few seconds, eventually, and he casts him a curious glance before letting his lips part in a smile that mirrors Alex’s down to the very last detail. He turns on his side too, stealing a kiss from him. “Except for you, obviously,” he says.

Alex chuckles, amused. “Likewise,” he says, and as he says the word his mind visualizes the connection between the word _eating_ and Timmy, and suddenly his brain is flooded with pictures of Timmy’s cock, vivid in his memory as though he had seen it last just a few minutes ago. Which is not true, because between the traveling and the sickness and the looting and the fearing for their fucking lives every minute of every day for the last two months, they have not had sex once since they left New York City. Intimacy tends to be scarce when you’re walking all the way through the continent, and lying exhausted on a mat on the dusty floor of an abandoned gas station doesn’t exactly put you in the mood for sex.

But it’s all different, now. The bed is comfortable, and warm, and even though the shower they had was cruelly cold they’re clean, now, and Timmy smells like himself again, and he’s only wearing this pair of very old, very gray, very nondescript baggy sweatpants, and he just looks gorgeous, and fit, and so perfectly domestic – and Alex never thought he would some day find the word domestic sexy, and yet here he is. Lying on the bed next to this man that, for the first time in months, looks like his boyfriend again, instead than an incredibly strong and reliable traveling partner. And that’s sexy.

“Come here…” he says, reaching out for him, and Timmy extends his arms and pulls him closer, kissing him right away. He tastes like cookies and Alex melts in his arms, basking in the warmth coming off his body. He lets his hands roam up and down his torso, he feels him, really, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, and he feels great, he feels so amazing, and Alex’s body feels like it’s dissolving, really, merging with him, and he keeps his eyes closed through the kissing and the touching, even when Timmy starts moving slowly against him he keeps his eyes closed, he keeps them closed because his eyelids feel so so heavy, he keeps them closed because it’s better to just feel, he keeps them closed— and maybe that’s his mistake, to keep his eyes closed, because in thirty seconds he’s already fallen asleep.

He dreams. In his dream, they’re in his dad’s farm in Galena – wishful thinking much?

It feels like it might be summer, though Alex knows it’s impossible. Even if they miss Bram’s train and they’re forced to keep traveling by foot, it should just be another month on the road, two if things get complicated or they decide to take it slow, even though it’d be smarter of them not to, because if they keep walking for two months they’re gonna be walking straight into winter, and that would not be good – they’re struggling with the weather as it is, already, and it’s only October. Or early November. Damn, he should’ve asked Bram for today’s date, he’s sure he would’ve known.

But anyway. It’s summer in the dream, and the farm looks amazing. Alex can’t smell anything, but that’s good, he thinks, the farm never smelled much good. It’s better to just look at it.

The sky is blue and there are very few clouds up there. The few there are look all like cotton candy. Alex extends a hand and imagines being able to touch them. And as soon as he imagines he could, he’s touching them, and they’re soft and sticky under his fingertips, exactly like cotton candy. He brings his fingers to his lips to taste them, and they taste sweet and sugary. He keeps his fingers in his mouth, licks them clean, sucks at them. He misses Timmy. He shivers and he misses Timmy, oh, he misses him with such desperation it tinges the sky solid black.

He can hear himself whisper a faint _come here_ , and then he feels him, solid behind him. His hands on his hips, his fingers digging into his flesh. He exhales, _yes, Timmy_ , and Timmy leans in and kisses him up the curve of his shoulder and then up his neck. His lips part and Alex can feel the outline of his teeth sink into his skin, and he hisses as his body comes alive under Timmy’s touch.

He wishes he could see him, that he could just turn around and see him, but Timmy’s keeping him still, his eyes fixed on the countryside, all yellow and blue, and he keeps kissing him, and then his tongue just flickers past his lips and up Alex’s nape, and Alex squirms, grabbing one of Timmy’s hands and pulling it forcefully between his own legs, to rub himself against his palm. He gasps, the shock of pleasure coursing through his body making his legs weak. He’s sure he’ll fall, he’s sure he should be falling, then he opens his eyes on the darkness of the room where they’re sleeping, in the safe house, and he understands why he’s not falling.

“Timmy—” he whimpers, reaching back for him.

Timmy groans loudly, burying his face in his hair, one of his arms firmly wrapped around Alex’s waist, the other just draped on his hip, his hand on Alex’s crotch, pressing down while Alex moves against it like a crazed person. “I can’t believe we fell asleep,” he growls.

Alex lets go of an uneven, breathy laughter, as he presses back against him, feeling Timmy’s hardness push against his buttocks. “We were tired,” he says in a whisper.

“There’s no excuse,” Timmy growls again.

Alex growls too, this time, the pressure of Timmy’s cock against his ass only making him want more. He turns in his arms, hugging him tight around his neck, kissing him voraciously while Timmy’s hands land unapologetically on his ass. “Okay then,” he says, “Make it up to me.”

Timmy nods, and Alex finds that so fucking cute, that he would nod in such a situation, that even when it’s most obvious he still acknowledges him, he still always responds to him before doing anything. He lies down on the bed and opens his legs for him, and Timmy grinds down against him, rubbing himself on him over and over again, their cocks hard and throbbing, getting wet in spots with pre-come. Alex reaches down, pushes his own underpants slightly aside, he expects that’s gonna be enough for Timmy, and it is. Timmy shoves his own pants and underpants down with hungry haste, and he starts rubbing his dick against Alex’s opening, spreading pre-come all over it, teasing him by pushing just the head in and then withdrawing to get him used to his shape and to the feeling of him breaching into his body again.

“No, don’t do that,” Alex whines, already beyond himself with anticipation, moving against him in a desperate attempt to get his cock inside himself, “Jesus, you’re a tease.”

Timmy lets out a breathless laughter that surfs on Alex’s skin, giving him the goosebumps. He wants him so much. God, he wants him so much he wants to cry. He tilts his head up and parts his lips to say something, anything, to beg him, but Timmy doesn’t need to be begged, he knows exactly what to give him and when. He withdraws a little, an inch or so, and then he thrusts forward, and he slides in. Alex feels every fucking inch of it, he throws his head back and opens his lips in a sudden gasp, and he pushes down against him, relaxing his muscles to allow him as deep in as he possibly can without breaking.

“Fuck, yes,” Timmy moans, pressing his whole face against Alex’s throat, covering him in nibbles and tiny kisses. He doesn’t need to tell him how he feels, he doesn’t need to tell him how good this is, because Alex knows. He feels Timmy’s pleasure as clearly as he feels his own. They feel the same. It’s the same pleasure, that they only split in two because they are two, even though, when they move like this, with such synchronicity, and when they are this close, virtually no space between them, it’s hard to think of themselves as two separate entities.

Alex hugs him tight, his arms firmly wrapped around Timmy’s neck, his legs clutched around his hips. He keeps him so close Timmy can barely push back with every thrust. He just moves forward, forward, forward, deeper, deeper, deeper, and Alex starts screaming – he’s never been vocal, but he literally starts screaming – oh, fuck, yes, Timmy, don’t stop, oh, God, Timmy, make me come!, and Timmy complies, as always at his service.

Alex tenses all over, feeling his orgasm overcome him. He gasps and he moans and then he chokes on his own pleasure and he goes silent as he shivers and squirts, shooting his load all over Timmy’s stomach. He vaguely realizes he just come without even needing to be jerked off. He should be amazed at it, probably, but he isn’t, it just seems pretty obvious, considering how much he was yearning for this and how fucking good Timmy just felt.

He looks down, trying to look at his expression. He’s just lying motionless on top of him, heaving, draped on him like the hottest blanket ever. His blonde hair is all ruffled and the tip of his ears are all red.

“God, I love you so much,” he hears himself say. He hadn’t planned to say it, but, yeah. It feels intensely true, right now, truer perhaps than it’s ever been, and it’s been true so fucking much already in the past, and he just needed to let it out.

Timmy looks up at him, blinking confusedly for a couple seconds. Then he smiles, and he looks like a fucking literal angel. How in the world they ended up together, what mystic force was at work behind them to make this possible, Alex has no idea. He thanks it, though. “I love you too, sweets,” he says.

Alex holds him tight, and Timmy holds him back. They still have a few hours before dawn. They go back to sleep.

*

The morning after, while a few guys finish emptying out their apartment and some others, Bram takes them on a tour through the entire train. They star out at the end, passing through what Bram calls the sleeping quarters, three wagons fully equipped with cabins and toilets. “Each wagon hosts four different cabins, each cabin four different beds. We can comfortably fit a total of forty-eight people in here, and there are emergency beds uptrain too,” Bram says, quite proudly, showing them each of the cabins, “There’s only fifteen of us here, seventeen with you, we’re prepared to take up a few people who might want to get on the road with us, as we travel.”

“You think someone’s gonna join you?” Alex asks, quite curious and quite puzzled and, honestly, with some disbelief, “I can’t imagine wanting to leave a safe place to get on the road.”

“Depends if you are in a safe place, I guess?” Timmy tries.

Bram chuckles, leading them out of the sleeping quarters and into what he calls the warehouses. “It’s not just a matter of people finding a place here that’s safer than where they currently are,” he explains with a patient smile, “I’m hoping someone might like to get behind my cause. I’ve heard frightful stories about some places, they say Pasadena’s in a pretty bad shape, and from what I hear Detroit’s been completely overrun by the sick, the few people still there are literally living in the sewers, they’re safe for now, but, I mean, for how long?” 

He pauses for a second, as they walk through wagon after wagon filled with anything anyone could possibly need at any point in history but especially during a deliriously bad pandemic that caused the end of civilization as humanity knew it – not just food and clothes and blankets, but meds, soap, pencils and notebooks, books, pillows. There’s a whole wagon entirely dedicated to furniture and stoves. And another one filled to the brim with toilet paper, for whatever reason. Not that Alex couldn’t understand its value, but seriously, he’s been on the road two months and he’s been glad whenever he could find a toilet with some paper still around, but mostly he learned how to cope, how to wipe himself with anything else when he couldn’t just wash it off somewhere. He thinks toilet paper’s overrated, all in all.

“I guess what I want to do is just try and see if I can make this something stable, a train that just constantly keeps riding up and down the USA to bring supplies to those in need,” Bram says as soon as they pass through the toilet paper wagon and into the locomotive, that ends their tour, “I mean, we have to face the fact that the world has changed, perhaps irreversibly. I’m sure somehow humanity will manage to bounce back, but in the meanwhile people will need help, and I…”

“You wanna help,” Timmy smiles tenderly, “That’s so you,” he comments with a short chuckle.

“I guess,” Bram chuckles too, shrugging lightly, “But I didn’t wanna bore you with this, you shouldn’t worry about what I’m gonna do. You need to get to your family and I will be happy enough if I manage to help you with that. Why don’t you go settle in the sleeping quarters? Make it the first cabin, so I can get to you more easily. The train should be moving shortly.”

Part of Alex would actually like to explore the train further, find out everything that’s been put in the warehouses. He wonders if these people thought about writing some sort of catalogue, if they have lists with numbers. It could be nice to get to do that, after all the trip to Cleveland’s pretty long, and if they plan to stop and stay a few days in Pittsburgh Alex wouldn’t mind helping around categorizing and counting shit for these incredible people who set their mind to save America one toiler paper roll at a time. But he’s still glad when Timmy holds him by the hand and drags him to their cabin – the trip is long enough to do all those things in due time, and even though they slept, tonight, and they slept well, they would probably need a full week of sleep to get up to date with their overdue sleeping schedule. They can take it slow.

As he settles down on one of the bunks, and Timmy decides to just throw himself on top of him instead of occupying another one, Alex allows himself a smile. “Can you believe this?” he says, “I honestly though it’d be another month or two before we could finally get home. And then Bram came and now we might just be, like, a few days away from our parents. It’s unbelievable.”

Timmy chuckles, pressing a tender kiss against Alex’s cheek. “I think life chose to give us a break,” he says, “And it was about time.”

Alex knows it dangerous to think like that. The moment you let yourself be truly positive, the moment you let yourself believe the worst is over, and you can finally breathe, and look forward to the future feeling something different than dread, for a change, that’s usually when life strikes the hardest.

And so life does, just a few hours later.

*

As Alex looks, wide-eyed and terrified, at the red-eyed, drooling, growling sick man standing right before him on the other side of the narrow corridor coasting the cabins up to the toilet at the top of the wagon, he thinks this is probably gonna be remembered not only as the last train ride in history, but also the shortest. They’ve literally been riding this train up to Pittsburgh for around four hours, and they have at least one sick on board already.

Alex knows how to deal with the sick. It’s always different depending on how far advanced they are on decomposition, but there are common guidelines to follow, and this guy’s a fresh one, he probably just started rotting a few hours ago, so Alex knows what to expect. 

The sickness works a cruel job on the human body. First it’s the fever, then you succumb to it, and you literally start rotting from the inside. The first few hours are the worst, because even though you’re already slowly disintegrating, every fiber of you melting into pus, all your receptors are still highly functioning, even more so because of the pain. These people are not only hurting, they’re literally feeling their own tissues dissolve, starting with the softer ones. Alex cannot even imagine what they must go through, how torturous it must be, before finally their receptors are destroyed and they can keep rotting without going mad with the pain.

This guy’s eyes are already hazy and turning white, meaning his vision must be blurry and unfocused at best, if he’s not already blind yet. If he moves carefully, he’s probably not gonna notice him.

Slowly, he lets one of his foot slide against the carpeted floor of the wagon, and he knocks twice against the cabin door. The drooling guy – he’s definitely one of those guys who were working close with Bram loading up the train, Alex thinks he remembers his name— was it Marshall? Madden? Does it even matter, at this point? – he notices the sound more than the movement. He tilts his head slightly up, growling a little louder. Luckily, Timmy notices the sound too, and he approaches the door, holding his hand out to open it.

“Slow,” Alex talks in whispers, hoping Timmy hears. If he doesn’t, still the expression he sees on his face must be enough to warn him, because he hesitates for a second and then opens the door slowly enough not to make any noise. “We have friends over,” he says.

“I see,” Timmy whispers back, nodding slowly as he places himself next to him, “He’s one of Bram’s men, isn’t he?” Alex just nods. “Has he made a move yet?”

“Not yet,” Alex shakes his head, “He can’t have been suffering too long, look at him.”

“Yeah, he’s still pretty fine looking, isn’t he?”

Alex nods again, and then swallows. “We’ve gotta move past him, babe,” he says, “If he attacks first— we can’t let that happen, there’s not enough space to move here.”

“We’ve gotta be smart about it,” Timmy nods in agreement. “Okay, that’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna get back in the cabin, and I’ll keep the door open. As soon as I’m inside, you make a run for the end of the wagon. He’s gonna follow you, and the moment he passes in front of me I’m gonna jump on him from behind, I’m gonna smash him to the ground and I’m gonna cut his throat. But you’ve gotta be fast, babe. You’ve gotta make sure he doesn’t get you.”

“I can do that,” Alex nods confidently. They’ve used this same strategy other times, while they were clearing buildings and they found themselves somehow trapped in a corridor. Sure, they never had to deal with a sick so new, that’s true. He hopes they’re not underestimating his agility. He waits for Timmy to get back into the cabin, so slow for a moment he wonders if time isn’t actually running backwards, instead of forwards, and then he takes a deep breath. “Okay. On my three. One, two, three!” Alex shouts, and he turns around and throws himself at the other end of the cabin, running faster than he’s ever done in all his life.

The poor sick man of course catches his movement – even almost as blind as he is, he’s craving human meat, instinctively knowing that is the only thing in the entire world that can slow down the rotting, and he runs after him, almost barking in pain, reaching out for him with hands whose fingernails have already started to blacken out.

Alex always trusted Timmy to deliver, during these situations, in the past few months. And Timmy never disappointed, and he doesn’t this time either. As soon as the man is running past the door, Timmy just kicks him between his legs and makes him trip, knowing full well that if he tried to fight him the man’s strength, powered up by his need for flesh, would be too much to take on.

The man’s on the floor in one second, tearing at the carpet with his fingers, leaving fingernails behind, and traces of disgusting, black, muddy blood. Timmy moves on top of him, straddling him like a horse, and it takes him all of thirty seconds to reach down underneath his neck and cut his throat, leaving him gargling and bleeding out on the floor.

One thing that makes the sick more manageable than your average horror movie zombie: they can still be killed the same way you’d kill a human being. They’re not undead. They’re just poor bastards going through hell. Alex used to feel guilty about putting them down, in the beginning. He could see their pain in the twisted grimaces on their face, on the faces of the few ones he really got too close with he could see tears, thick, yellow drops of pain leaving slimy traces on their cheek. And he blamed himself, and Timmy, he thought they were being heartless, that these people did not deserve to be gutted, or shot, or thrown off buildings like they did whenever they had to clear some area to be safe for a night.

But he’s moved past that, now. Now he can see killing these people, these sad, suffering people, for what it really is. Mercy.

Timmy raises his head, heaving. “You alright, sweets?”

“Yeah,” Alex walks back to him and crouches in front of the dead sick, lying motionless in a pool of his own black blood. “You?”

“I’m okay,” Timmy nods, “No scratches, no wounds. I’m gonna be fine.”

Alex nods, relieved. The sickness spreads slower when you don’t get eaten, but it does spread, even if the sick just scratches you. As soon as blood comes in contact, the virus is already inside you, and you already know that sooner or later you’re gonna come down with a bad, bad fever that won’t pass, and then one day you’re gonna wake up and you will feel yourself melt away from the inside, and you will go mad, and you will want to eat.

“That’s good,” he answers with a smile, reaching out to stroke Timmy’s cheek, “I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

Timmy smiles and turns his head slightly to the side, to press a kiss on Alex’s palm. “Luckily, you won’t have to find out,” he says. Then he stands up, and Alex quickly follows him. He turns to look at the door at the top of the wagon, swallowing anxiously. “We’ve gotta see what’s going on uptrain,” he says.

“You think there are more like him?”

“It’s possible,” Timmy answers. 

Alex knows him too well not to detect fear in his voice, despite how well Timmy’s trying to conceal it. “You think Bram—”

“I don’t wanna think about it,” Timmy shakes his head quickly. Alex can only imagine what Timmy’s feeling. Finding your best friend again in such a situation, and already being forced to fear for his life only the day after. That’s why he prefers not to know what’s been of Neri, back in Italy. As long as he doesn’t know, he can imagine him safe and sound somehow. Protected, with people caring for him. That’s all he wants to think when he think about his best friend.

“Okay,” he nods, placing a hand on Timmy’s shoulder and squeezing it, “Let’s go see.”

They make it as far as the second warehouse wagon, when they’re forced to back off when another sick one tries to assault them. He comes as a surprise, he launches himself at them, they don’t have time to come up with anything, a strategy, a plan, not even warn each other about it. Alex backs off but he’s too close, Timmy throws himself in between him and the sick man, but it’s too late, and the man almost gets him, except at the last second he gets yanked back by a hand pulling at his shirt’s collar, and soon enough they hear a loud bang, and the head of the poor bastard literally explodes, as they cover their faces to make sure no rotting brain matter ends up in their eyes or mouths.

When Alex lowers his hands, he sees Bram still holding the lifeless body of the man, breathing heavily in and out. He lets it go, and the corpse falls on the floor with a loud, heavy thud. “Oh, God, I was hoping it wouldn’t be too late,” Bram says, and that’s all he manages to say before Timmy throws himself at him, holding him in such a powerful hug Alex can almost feel his bones creaking in solidarity.

“Bram, fuck, I was so fucking worried about you,” he says, squeezing him again before finally letting him go, “What the hell happened?!”

“Seems like one of my men came in contact with a sick one, probably while we were clearing out Harrisburg. It makes sense, timewise. He neglected to inform me, of course. I— haven’t been able to speak with anyone to make sure, unfortunately, but I’m guessing he developed a fever and kept it from me, and today…” he doesn’t feel like he needs to complete the sentence, Alex and Timmy can come to their conclusions all by themselves.

“Wait, you…” Alex frowns lightly, looking at him, “You said you haven’t talked with anyone yet?”

“And I won’t.”

Timmy swallows. “Bram…”

Bramwell closes his eyes and tilts his head down. In the way his eyelids flutter and his eyebrows come together in the middle of his forehead it’s obvious that he’s in pain. “They’re all dead,” he says, his voice weakening. “Except for the man who’s driving the train, it’s… it’s just us. We’re the only ones left.”

*

When Timmy comes back into their cabin, a couple hours later, he looks tired – really tired. More than he’s ever been since this whole shitshow started. So tired, actually, that the word seems too small to contain all of his weariness.

He’s done. So done with this whole thing it’s almost scary.

Alex immediately stands up from the bunk where he’s been sitting, waiting for him to return, and wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. “Is he alright?” he asks, “Did you manage to put him to sleep?”

Timmy shrugs, hiding his face against the curve of Alex’s neck. “I doubt he’ll be able to sleep anytime soon,” he says, “The things he must’ve seen… and done…”

Alex swallows, pulling back just to try and make eye contact with him. Timmy keeps looking away. “Did he say something?”

Timmy sighs deeply. “Not much,” he answers, “But he had to clear the whole train to find us. The whole train, Alex… he must’ve massacred more than ten of them.”

“Jesus Christ…” Alex passes a hand over his own eyes, and then through his hair, combing them backwards. “That’s…”

“There are no words for it,” Timmy shakes his head, walking up to the bunk and sitting down. “Did you manage to speak with the conductor?”

“Yeah,” Alex nods, sitting next to him, close enough that their shoulders keep brushing with every breath they take, “He doesn’t know anything. Luckily, no one got to him, so he’s alright. They’re both gonna be fine.”

Timmy doesn’t answer to that, and for the longest time he just remains silent, looking at his own hands, clutched around his knees. Then he speaks, and he does that as though it costed him. Which Alex can’t really understand. It never costed either of them to share between each other. “They’re… not gonna be fine, Alex,” he says with a heavy voice, “How can two people riding alone on a train be fine? He’s… he’s planning to take this train where the sickness hit the hardest, and it’s gonna be just him and this other dude that he can’t possibly put in any danger because if something happens to him the train stops moving.”

Alex holds his breath a second, looking at him. “But… I’m sure as soon as we get to Pittsburgh people are gonna join. The train’s gonna be full again in no time.”

“I’m not sure that’s gonna happen,” Timmy insists, “I mean, it could. But, honestly, would you ever have gotten on this train for any other reason than getting a ride closer to Galena? No, and for good reason. No one wants to get up and help, right now, we’re all so concentrated with wanting to get our skins safe somewhere as far as possible from this madness…”

“Hey… Hey, Timmy,” Alex raises a hand and strokes Timmy’s cheek, and then he passes his fingers through his hair, untangling them, “That doesn’t make us bad people, baby. That’s just survival instinct. Of course we wanna get far away from this madness, we’ve been on the road for months, stranded and alone for even longer than that. It’s normal to wanna be with your family, to wanna be safe. It’s normal and it’s _fine_.”

“Okay, but _he_ doesn’t want that,” Timmy retorts, still refusing to look at him, “He wants to help. He’s gonna keep driving this train, taking it wherever it’s needed, and he’s gonna do it alone, if he must, because that’s Bram. That’s— That’s just how he is, he’s always been like this, all his life. Fighting wars, all by himself.”

“He was never by himself, Timmy,” Alex shakes his head, trying to comfort him with his touch, “He’s always had supporters, people fighting alongside him. Everywhere he went—”

“It was never someone following him, Alex,” Timmy sighs, closing his eyes, “They were people he found once he got there. The locals he wanted to help. But every time he chose to fight for some cause, he never had a posse protecting him, he never had friends who said okay, dude, of course, let’s go. I… I never was that friend. I always let him go by himself.”

That’s when Alex understands. That this isn’t just Timmy ranting about how this situation sucks and how sorry he is for his best friend who chose to carry the weight of the world upon his shoulders. This is something else. This is Timmy trying to tell him something, even if he doesn’t want to.

“Baby,” he swallows, anxiously, “What are you trying to say?”

Finally, Timmy turns to look at him. His eyes are heavy and all shades of sad. Alex finds himself hating them for the first time in his life. Timmy should never look at him like this. “If… If we manage to get someone else on this train to help him by the time we get to Cleveland, then fine, I’ll let him go. But if we can’t…” he swallows, “If, by the time we get there, it’s still just us on this train, I can’t let him go alone, not again.”

“Timmy,” Alex’s voice shakes, “What are you _telling_ me?”

“I’ll— I’ll have to go with him,” Timmy spits out in one breath, “If he’s still alone in Cleveland, I will ask him to take a detour. I’ll ask him to take the train down to Columbus, and once there I will ask him to wait for me for a few hours, I will find a car and I will get you to Galena. I’ll make sure you’re safe, I’ll make sure our families are alright, and then…” he pauses a second, as though it took his breath away to utter the next few words, “Then I’ll turn back and I’ll ride with him, wherever he wants to go.”

For a few seconds, Alex can do nothing but stare at him, horrified. “You can’t be serious,” he shakes his head, “Timmy— You can’t be serious! You can’t leave me!”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Timmy shakes his head, “I’m going to take you home. I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

“And then you’re gonna leave me!” Alex stands up, moving away from him. Who is this person who so lightly talks about taking him anywhere that isn’t by his side? Who is this man who would choose to follow anyone but him anywhere but where he is? Alex can’t recognize him. Alex doesn’t know him. “What do you think I care about being safe in Galena if I can’t be safe with you there?!”

“I will be safe,” Timmy tries weakly, “Bram and I will protect each other. We’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that!”

“And as soon as I can find him someone else to travel with, someone who can help him, I— I’m going to travel back to Galena, I swear.”

“It might take you months! By the time you come by, if you ever do, you could find us all dead!” Alex feels a void open up within himself, a dreadful, deep hole, a hole with teeth, gnawing at him. “I can’t bear the thought of dying away from you. Or you dying away from me! No,” Alex shakes his head, resolutely, “That’s not gonna happen. If you go with him, I’ll go with you.”

“Absolutely not!” Timmy stands up too, raising his voice, “It’s too risky!”

“If it isn’t too risky for you, it isn’t too risky for me!”

“Alex— for Christ’s sake, I’m trying to protect you!”

“No!” Alex yells back at him, “You’re trying to leave me! And if this is what it is, don’t you dare hiding behind a finger and pretend it’s for my sake! You wanna get away from me and keep traveling alone, you tell me right to my face, you don’t lie about it! So tell me! Say it!”

Timmy tenses, clenching his hands down his sides. His fists are shut so tight his knuckles are turning white. Alex keeps thinking say it, say it, say it, I dare you. But Timmy looks away. He walks back to the bed and sits down, and then lies on his side, facing the wall, away from him. “Let’s just rest. Sleep on it. We have a few hours before Pittsburgh. If things get better once we’re there, if there’s someone who wants to join, there’s not gonna be any problem.”

But as he looks at his broad shoulders moving slightly at the rhythm of his breaths, Alex thinks no matter how many people they find who might want to join Bramwell in his impossible quest, they already have a problem. Because even if Timmy ultimately ends up traveling with him to Galena, how is Alex ever supposed to forget that, for a moment, he didn’t want to?


End file.
